


Fetch

by Anonymous



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bestiality, Frottage, Knotting, M/M, Male Makkachin, Multi, Other, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-17 01:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14177385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In the Hasetsu summer, Yuuri longs for Victor but he spends more time with Makkachin.Sequel toA Boy and His Dog.





	Fetch

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Anniversary, beloved Madness!! My generator prompt was "poodles" but I may have refreshed a few times to get it.
> 
> As before: Makkachin is male in this story. And he is not physically harmed.

Yuuri’s not sure about his heart. But he is sure about his dick. His dick wants Victor. Wants Victor a _lot_ , to the point where Yuuri has to get himself off before their coaching sessions, just to take the edge off.

But by the time they’re off the ice and Victor is unlacing his skates beside Yuuri, hair falling over his cheek, the edge is back, fresh from the sharpener's wheel, and Yuuri has to turn away and say he’s going to walk home alone.

It would be easy to get Victor to take care of Yuuri’s dick; Victor’s been plain enough about it. Yuuri wouldn’t even have to ask out loud. Dicks aren’t embarrassing in the way that hearts are.

But Yuuri doesn’t. He has a whole tangled set of reasons that he gives his dick: he doesn’t want to spoil the coaching relationship, it will break his concentration, the last dick-touching relationship he had didn’t end very well.

But if he took the end of that knotted mess of explanations and pulled, it would uncoil into a single strand: he’s afraid that if he lets Victor touch his dick, he’ll fall. That when that handie or that hummer makes him come, the ice will crack and his heart will crash through into dark water, lost and drowning.

It’s easier to just walk home alone.

So he turns away from Victor’s questioning looks and closes the door to his room and lies in bed awake, getting off one more time even though he’s so fucking sore.

+

“Let’s go to the bath together,” Victor says. He’s finishing his supper and when he tips up his bowl to drink, Yuuri can't stop watching Victor’s long throat work and swallow.

Yuuri can’t be in the bath with Victor’s pale torso, his wide-spread arms, his sprawling thighs. His fingers reaching for the tension in Yuuri’s shoulders. He can't, his dick can't.

“I’m going for a run,” Yuuri says and turns away from Victor’s narrowing eyes.

Makkachin lopes out the door with him and together they jog in the summer evening, through the heat still rising from the sidewalk. Yuuri doesn’t count his heart rate, just the thud of each foot against the ground, _one, one, one_ , enough to keep Victor’s throat and hands and dick out of his mind until he stops again.

When he’s far enough away, he stops and looks out over the water, one hand on the railing, and the other on Makkachin’s head. Makkachin presses against Yuuri’s leg and Yuuri kneels down to put an arm over his back.

Makkachin licks Yuuri’s face. Yuuri rubs his wiry coat. The salty breeze from the ocean lifts Yuuri’s hair and they lean against each other, watching the tide come in and the gulls sail by.

Then Makkachin noses Yuuri’s pocket and Yuuri pulls out the ball he always carries for Makkachin, like the one he always carried for Vicchan. He tosses it and Makkachin springs after it, trotting back so proudly Yuuri can’t help but think Makkachin has a bit of Victor’s manner, that lift of the chin.

Yuuri smiles at that, then frowns. He takes back the ball, damp from Makkachin’s mouth, and they play fetch until it’s getting too dark to see and Yuuri knows Victor will be out of the bath.

When they pass by Victor’s room, the door slides open and Victor steps to the side to let Makkachin in. Victor is fresh and clean-looking, an expression on his face Yuuri remembers from Victor’s Juniors days: half a smile and hopeful eyes, like the best days are still ahead and he can’t wait to meet them.

Yuuri’s dick can’t look further ahead than the next five minutes and it pulls him half a step out of his way before he can correct, like a roller bag with a broken wheel.

“Good night,” Yuuri says and turns his head so he doesn’t have to see that look fall away from Victor’s face. He wishes he could plug his ears so he wouldn’t have to hear the soft bump of the door against the frame.

When his own door slides closed, he drops onto the bed, doesn’t even undress, just pulls his dick out and jacks it, thinking about Victor’s body against his own, their hands on each other, panting in the dark so he doesn’t have to see Victor’s eyes.

+

The next night, Victor goes out: drinking with new friends or shopping or staring at the moon, there’s not much else to do around here.

Yuuri soaks in the bath, halfway to relaxed, and when he heads to his room, Makkachin trots beside him, jumping up onto the bed like Vicchan used to do. Yuuri flops beside Makkachin, rubbing Makkachin's belly, and it’s too warm but he cuddles up anyhow, arm around Makkachin. Like he’s seen Victor and Makkachin do in the evenings.

He’s seen so many faces on Victor and he’s never quite sure which ones are real and which are practised. But the way Victor softens when Makkachin is beside him is real. Victor’s fingers curling through Makkachin’s coat, cheek rubbing the top of his head. His whole body leaning in, his eyes drooping and tender.

Yuuri imagines — feels — Victor against him. Hands sliding over Yuuri’s body and those eyes looking only at him, like Victor has known Yuuri for as long as Yuuri has known Victor.

It’s just Yuuri’s dick that wants Victor, just his dick, but right now his dick wants Victor so much his fingers are creeping towards his phone and he has to lock both arms around Makkachin to stop himself.

And then he’s trapped, sweat pricking up at his forehead and armpits and groin, with his dick hard and leaking, pressing against Makkachin’s side. Before he realises, he’s rocking into it: the warm pressure of Makkachin’s flank, the friction of Makkachin’s fur, a little rough even through Yuuri’s sleep pants.

Makkachin whines and licks Yuuri’s face with a long wet swipe. He quivers and turns himself in Yuuri’s arms, squirming closer.

Shame rises over Yuuri and he does realise it then, that he’s rubbing up against a dog like some fucking pervert. Like a horny fifteen year old looking for somewhere, anywhere to put it.

But even when Yuuri was fifteen, he shut Vicchan out of the room first.

It’s too much, he’s not this person, he’s not his dick. It feels good, better than just his own hand, but he’s not letting it happen. He rolls away.

Makkachin follows him up, scrambling closer, and crouching back against Yuuri. And Yuuri feels it just before Makkachin starts moving: the dog is hard too, his dick out and rubbing against Yuuri’s thigh.

It’s Yuuri’s fault, but what can he do now? Drag Makkachin off the bed, shove him whining out into the hall to scratch at the door? It’s his fault, it has to be. And while he’s telling himself that, he’s shifting on the bed under Makkachin until Makkachin is thrusting against Yuuri’s hipbone. And Yuuri’s cock is sliding against Makkachin’s belly.

Yuuri closes his eyes. It’s nothing, just dicks, just friends getting each other off, a favour. Nothing, just his fingers clutching Makkachin’s fur, his back arching to press closer. Just his blood sinking, his belly tensing.

Makkachin puts his nose against the side of Yuuri’s neck. And Yuuri comes hard into his pants, arms tightening, and staring at the inside of his eyelids, trying not to see Victor’s fond drooping eyes.

And then he lies there, cold with shame and hardly breathing, while Makkachin humps him. When Makkachin finally comes, Yuuri can hardly believe the mess.

Makkachin licks Yuuri’s face again, noses at him. Yuuri scratches his head, _good boy, good dog, bad Yuuri_. And shame or not, Yuuri’s body feels loose now, satisfied, like he might sleep instead of staring at the ceiling until he can get it up one more time.

He scrubs them both off with the wreck of his t-shirt. Then he presses his forehead against Makkachin’s side and breathes in his doggy smell. “Don’t tell Victor,” he says and lets Makkachin out the door.

+

Yuuri didn’t tell himself _never again_ , why would he even need to? But it’s only two days later that Makkachin trails after him and he waits until Makkachin bounds inside his room before he shuts the door.

He lets Makkachin lick at his dick, nose damply at his balls. Then they settle down to hump it out, a towel down on the bed and Yuuri’s arm tight around Makkachin’s back.

In his mind, it’s Victor’s thigh Yuuri is rubbing against, Victor’s shoulders his arm is circling. Victor breathing roughly as Yuuri takes him there. Victor’s eyes looking at him softly.

But it’s Makkachin who thrusts so eagerly and paws and whines. Makkachin who flops down on the bed and goes to sleep beside Yuuri, warm and friendly. It doesn’t take long for Yuuri to drift off with him.

+

Victor doesn’t know. He _can’t_ or he wouldn’t skate with Yuuri every day at dawn, doling out fifty criticisms for every crumb of praise.

“Let’s go to the beach,” he says and Yuuri goes with him, splashing in the water, running along the high tide line. Laughing at Makkachin kicking up the sand between them. Tossing the ball for him to fetch, over and over again until Yuuri misses a throw and the ball floats out to sea.

Then they sit under a shade and eat their lunch. When Makkachin takes food from Victor’s hand, lapping at his fingers with that long tongue, Yuuri’s dick lurches full and hard and he has to manoeuvre with his towel to hide it.

There’s a hotel close by, he could pull Victor to his feet, take him there. They could find a place for Makkachin to wait in the shade with a bowl of water and a treat.

Victor caresses the top of Makkachin’s head. “You’re too greedy,” he says and leans down to press his cheek against Makkachin’s fur.

Yuuri stares out at the ocean, too greedy, too needy. When they get home, he tells Victor he’s off to take a nap.

He lets Makkachin in the door ahead of him. He comes twice. Then he stares at the ceiling, trying to make his mind as blank as the horizon, stretched out on the bed, covered in sand from Makkachin’s fur.

+

Yuuri tries not to think about it, about Makkachin bumping against him in his bed. If he thinks about it, it will show in his face and Victor will know how deplorable and fucked-up he is.

_I’m not hurting him,_ Yuuri says to himself and sometimes _him_ is Makkachin and sometimes it’s Victor.

And he’s skating so well right now. He can feel it in his body, he’s shaping so well. Like he’s flying, gliding free like a gull over the water. And Victor has a few more crumbs for him.

But his dick is more insistent than ever, no matter how much he gets off, alone or with Makkachin. It pulls him, sends his fingers reaching for Victor’s shoulder, for Makkachin’s flank, and Yuuri has to be on his guard to keep his hands to himself.

+

“I’m going to get in some late practice,” Yuuri tells Victor and jogs to the rink under the street lights. He has the keys, he’s the only one there, and he traces figures on the ice, slow and careful, for half an hour.

It’s no use. There’s something growing inside him, pressing on the inside of his skin until it feels like it will split. He could lie down here on the ice and get himself off three times and it wouldn’t be enough.

Not without that furry weight against him, licking at his neck, whining with pleasure, wanting nothing from him but this. His stomach turns but it’s too late to pretend he’s not this person.

He locks up and runs back home, hand around the ball in his pocket.

+

Makkachin is nowhere to be found. Neither is Victor, so there’s only one place they can be. Yuuri’s dick is pulling him again and he lets it take him, until he’s in front of Victor’s room, fingers resting on the door.

He takes a breath. He doesn’t want to see Victor’s face. Maybe he won’t look up from his phone. Maybe he’s sleeping and if Yuuri slides the door carefully, Victor will never know Yuuri was there.

But just as Yuuri is easing the door open, he hears the bed creaking. He hears Victor’s half-voiced gasp. And it’s too late, he’s already looking.

The world tilts and Yuuri’s skin goes cold and stinging, like an ocean wave slapping over him, leaving him wet and breathless. 

Victor is crouching on the bed, naked, head down, buttocks raised. And Makkachin is with him, not just butting up against him, not just nosing and whining. He’s mounting Victor, up over his back, thrusting at him, _inside_ him.

Victor’s eyes are screwed closed, his face is flushed, the breath huffs out of his mouth with every rock of the bed.

Heat rises in Yuuri’s face and his throat goes dry. He was already hard but now his dick feels like iron. His whole body is clenched and sick. _Go away,_ he tells himself. _Go away and shut the door._

Then Makkachin stops moving. He throws his leg over Victor’s back and turns. Victor cries out, once, and his whole face twists like he’s in pain, his fingers clutching handfuls of the sheet.

Then Victor holds out his hand. “Yuuri,” he says with a voice like a sob.

Yuuri steps in and shuts the door behind him. The room is dim, a single lamp casting shadows on the wall: Victor and Makkachin joined back to back and shaking. Yuuri walks forward, no more arguing with his dick. He crossed the threshold and this is the world he found.

“Rub his back,” Victor says.

Yuuri puts out a trembling hand and rubs Makkachin’s back, that familiar wiry hair against his palm. Makkachin raises his head and Yuuri curls his fingers into Makkachin’s coat.

And Victor didn’t ask but Yuuri puts his other hand on Victor’s back. Victor’s skin is damp with sweat and he quivers as Yuuri strokes him too. His face eases until he’s almost smiling.

Yuuri feels himself ease too. Not his dick, not the blood that is pounding through his body. But the twist in his gut relaxes and he doesn’t have to think any more.

“I knew he’d bring you to me.” Victor reaches back for Yuuri and hooks his fingers into Yuuri’s waistband. “Come here.”

Yuuri lets his fingers trail away from Makkachin, even though he doesn’t want to let go. He stands by the bed where Victor is angled close to the edge. And he opens his fly.

Victor sucks him in eagerly. His mouth is hot around Yuuri’s dick, wet and sliding and skilled. His eyes turn up to Yuuri’s, glazed over like he’s only half here but so full of gratitude and fondness.

Yuuri hardly knows what he’s feeling, except that they are both deep inside Victor now, he and Makkachin together, and he has never been this aroused, this overwhelmed. His head is spinning, he leans against the bed, one knee up so he won't sink to the floor. He puts his hand on Victor’s head and the silky hair is nothing like Makkachin’s springy coat but he pets it just the same, digging in with his fingers.

Victor gets one arm around Yuuri’s waist, supporting himself as he reaches back for his own dick. He clings to Yuuri, fingers tight, lips tighter.

It’s almost there, Yuuri can feel it, he’s skated out so far, the ice is thin and cracking. “Victor,” he whispers. “Makkachin.” And he comes, jerking his hips and banging his dick against the back of Victor’s throat. Pulling Victor’s hair between his fingers. Reaching for Makkachin’s flank, too far away.

And he slips through the ice, down, into water darker than he knew, his heart contracting and expanding.

“Stay with us all night,” Victor says and Yuuri does.


End file.
